


only i am missing

by princesskit



Category: Psycho-Pass
Genre: BDGIM x PP crossover, F/M, Time Travel, for my dear friend, happy-ish ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-08-23 09:57:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8323513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princesskit/pseuds/princesskit
Summary: Ginoza Nobuchika possesses an ability that can send him back in time moments before a tradgedy occurs, allowing him to prevent it from happening. When his father is killed by an unknown assailant, Ginoza's ability sends him back seventeen years into the past to when he was still in elementary school, giving him the opportunity to prevent a kidnapping case that took the lives of three of his classmates.





	1. the mystery begins

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aftersundown](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aftersundown/gifts).



In the town of snow and secrets, the boy walked alone. Amid a blur of warm light and cool air, the falling snowflakes rested on his cheeks, as gentle as a mother’s loving kiss. In the distance were vaguely familiar houses, all so cozy and welcoming in the winters gloom. In order to make sense of it, all he had to do was just blink –

Amongst the cheerful festival crowd, the boy was lost. As snow did so often in spring, the jovial crowds melted away, leaving his father’s smile as clear as day as he knelt eye-level to face his son. Deep inside, the scene chilled him to the core, for there was ice in his heart; yet there was no denying the genuine smile, and something unfamiliar pricked at the corners of his eyes. Wanting to mask the ugly wave of vulnerability, anger rose, and he away he blinked it-

During a football game played by cheering schoolboys, the boy observed silently. Washing over his ears was the happy chorus from an innocent time, and as much as he wished to join them, he knew he did not belong alongside them; they held no faces, nor any names, and remained only a blur in his memory. Moving on and blinking again-

On the path he’d walked many times, the boy returned home. Above him, the winter sky had gone dark; a lonely park, concealed in white, unfolded on his right. Save for a persistent breeze that nipped at his skin and the repetitive crunching of snow underfoot, the evening was deadly silent. Stopping in his tracks, his gaze travelled from the oppressive white of the park to a crimson scarf fluttering daintily in the wind. Standing eerily still with a pensive look on her face, the girl wearing it uttered not a word.

“Oh, he’s waking up!”

At the intrusive voice, he blinked again. Filling the air was the faint hum of a machine, seemingly coaxing him out of sleep. _What the hell was that?_ Against his skull, his brain throbbed with the starting of a headache. _There, you see?_ He scolded himself as sternly as a parent would do to their child. _Nothing good comes of getting involved with strangers._ He tacked that on afterwards with smug satisfaction, as if to settle the matter. Finally, he opened his eyes a crack, and looked for the source of the voice.

Peering down at him expectantly with hopeful eyes was his co-worker. “Tsunemori…?” he mumbled in confusion – of all people, why was she here? In the plastic chair, she leant back with a modicum of relief, smile on her face, brown eyes twinkling. Judging from the fact she was still wearing her uniform, he decided that she must have just ended her shift, so it was no more than four in the afternoon.

“Do you know who you are and why you’re here?” she asked him in her soothing voice, still somehow sounding scarily professional.

“Nobuchika Ginoza, twenty-eight years old,” he informed her, and she relaxed slightly. “I was chasing a vehicle with a suspected criminal inside of it, and got into an accident.”

“Thank goodness!” she announced loudly, face splitting into a happy grin; the volume of her voice made his head ache a tad, but he didn’t show it. “The doctors said you hardly suffered any injuries at all, Ginoza. You’re really lucky, you know?” she paused, as if thinking of something; her face grew more serious, and she asked in a soft voice: “Do you want me to call anyone? A friend… or a girlfriend?”

“Not really,” Ginoza replied honestly. “There’s nobody I want to bother telling.”

At his response, she stared down at him with a flat expression of distaste, perhaps disbelieving. Then her eyebrows creased downwards, which only happened when she was concentrating, and she spoke slowly. “You don’t really like opening up to people, do you?” she shook her head slightly. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you laugh, either. But still… I see you in a new light now.”

“How come?”

“You saved the lives of innocent people, which could have been at the cost of your own,” she explained. “That’s an incredibly selfless thing to do. I didn’t even have time to react, or think. I think it’s kind of amazing that you spotted it so quick!”

“I just got lucky,” he lied, giving Akane one of his generic excuses – _I’m more experienced than you, it’s just a coincidence, it could have been anyone._

“Hmm…” Akane studied him briefly, before sitting back again. “After you intervened, the car crashed into some warehouse, so the only people who were involved were you and the criminal. He’s been taken in by now with nothing but a broken arm.” She smiled lightly, and then clapped her hands together, as if waking herself up. At the noise, Ginoza flinched a bit. “I told the Chief everything, and he wants to let you know you shouldn’t worry about the car, and you can come back to work once you’re all better!”

“Thank you very mu-”

“Hey, you’re smiling!” she waggled a finger at him, and the smile he wasn’t even aware he’d been wearing slipped from his face faster than light. Clearly disappointed, she pouted. An awkward silence then descended between them, almost stifling; normally, he would have been able to stand it, but a tiny voice in his head was urging him to say something.

“Um, Tsunemori,” he cleared his throat. “Why do you work here?”

“With the PSB, you mean?” she said, leaning forwards, resting on the bed, clearly thinking about things, and Ginoza confirmed it with a nod. In all honesty, he and Akane had never really spoken before; it was always snippets of a normal conversation, and then straight onto work-related topics; their schedule was far too busy for much else. To him, she seemed like his polar opposite – a giggly, hopeful young girl to his apathetic old man. Why she’d even come to visit him vexed him still, as she had no reason to even be here. “You know, nobody’s ever asked me that before.”

“They haven’t?” Wasn’t it just a topic of small talk?

“Nope!” she replied breezily, with a carefree expression. “The answer’s simple though. I have a dream.”

“I see,” said Ginoza, not wanting to press the issue.

“…That’s seriously all you’re going to ask me?!” she huffed, sitting back again, arms folded across her chest, evidently displeased. Personally, Ginoza found it childish – why did people feel the need to share every detail of their lives? Maybe he was the strange one, who knew? For a moment, he gazed impassively at here, mind wandering to tireless hours he’d spent draped over a text book in the dead of night, pen in hand, trying to recall all details.

“When you tell people about your dream…” he started slowly, and she looked at him with piqued interest, “don’t you think things like _what if it doesn’t happen for me_?”

At that, Akane shook her head. “Nope! I feel like if you say the words over and over, eventually it’ll be enough, and it’ll happen somewhere down the line.” For whatever reason, those words resonated somewhere in his skull. Unwillingly, his jaw slackened, and he studied Akane’s genuine and foolishly hopeful face, yet before he could get a proper look, she’d stood up hastily. “I can’t tell you what my dream is though. It’s not like we’re close.” Promptly, she walked over to the door, and before exiting she turned around a final time. “I’ll go to Analysis Lab 2 and tell them you’ve woken up.”

The incident with the car chase with the criminal a few days prior had not been left to chance, as he’d lead Akane to believe (yet something told him she wasn’t utterly convinced). What had occurred back then was a phenomenon he’d termed ‘revival’, and despite the fact it wasn’t always beneficial for him, he always made sure to get involved. Usually, when a tragedy or terrible event was about to occur, he’d be sent back in time by approximately one to five minutes, where everything was the same. As of yet he had no control over this supernatural power, and it occurred at random times; he only knew it to be the case for the explosion he could feel in his head, and a sensation similar to being dragged through freezing cold water. Each time, Ginoza’s instincts forced him to look for anything that was out of place, the need for prevention kicking in. In most cases, the result was neutral, and nobody got hurt, yet sometimes it turned out badly for him – the car chase had been one of these said times. As a result of this phenomenon, he’d kept trouble from happening over and over again, a thing which came in incredibly handy in his job as an Inspector; it also increased the efficiency of his Division as a whole. Still, it felt wrong having this power, when he knew Inspectors like Akane worked so hard to help people whilst he had an unfair advantage.

At dinner time, he was discharged and driven to his home, putting his car on auto-drive so he could rest easy. At the very least his headache had reduced. Once outside his home, he was perplexed to see artificial light. When he got closer, he could hear the sounds of running water, and dishes clinking together, as well as the sound of one of the various appliances in the kitchen beeping; through the door wafted the scent of homemade cooking, a welcome smell after the sterile atmosphere at the hospital. Who was it? He did live alone, after all. Hesitantly, he opened his front door with caution, and after taking his shoes off (he wasn’t trekking dirt on his floors, not after he’d cleaned it all only a few days ago). When he put them down, he noticed a larger pair of weather beaten brown shoes that held a hint of familiarity. Steadily, he made his way into the kitchen.

Standing over his hob was an old man with brown hair and the same glittering green eyes that he had, except this old man’s held a dash of friendliness Ginoza had long since lost (or given up). Upon hearing him come in, the man looked up from the recipe book he was studying intently to see him, and his face split into a grin. “Welcome home, Nobuchika!”

Ginoza quirked an eyebrow. “Dad?”

Already, he’d turned to his cooking, scanning the book as he worked; his father, Tomomi Masaoka, had an incredibly sharp mind, perhaps even sharper than his son’s, and could juggle many tasks at the same time. “I came and visited you at the PSB hospital,” he explained, “but you were still asleep, which was kind of boring, so I came here.” Rolling his eyes incredulously, Ginoza moved away to change into some more comfortable slacks, and mainly to get away from his father. At the very least the other man had the sense to take his shoes off at the door – if Ginoza remembered correctly, he was never too bothered with the state their house was in. “How’s the head?” his father’s voice floated through the door.

“Fine,” Ginoza replied shortly.

“You know, I was surprised,” his father continued, ignoring his son’s sullen tone. “I mean, they told me it was a head-on collision. Never took you for a dangerous driver, Nobubu.” Ginoza didn’t dignify this with a response, and his father chuckled at a private joke. “Back in my day, if we pulled stunts like that, we’d get points on our license, but it seems nowadays it’s heroic!” he laughed at something, and Ginoza rolled his eyes – there he went again, talking about the old days. “Oh, I’m gonna be staying with you for a while.”

At that, Ginoza returned to the kitchen hurriedly, pulling his sweater on. “Why would you do that?”

“My son’s just been in a car accident,” Masaoka turned to face him, setting dinner down on the table. “The least I could do is watch over you.”

“I said I’m fine,” Ginoza protested flatly. “And I only have one futon.”

“You got a couch,” Masaoka shrugged, “that’ll do me just fine.”

“Go to a hotel.”

“Waste o’ money.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Ginoza remembered suddenly. “I’ll reimburse you for the hospital charges.”

“Ah, keep it, keep it,” his father waved him down. “That money can be my payment for my room here.” Ginoza stared at him for a few moments, sizing up him. As expected, the man hadn’t changed. “Oh, yeah, I was wondering. Could you get to Ueno without changing trains?”

“No,” Ginoza scowled. “Figures. You’re here for sightseeing.”

“I’ve come from Hokkaido,” his father reminded him. “I’d get bored staring at your ugly mug every day.” _You haven’t even seen me for a full day yet_ , Ginoza wanted to point out. “Come on then, let’s get some food in you.”

Later that evening, his father had made himself perfectly comfortable in Ginoza’s room, slowly making his way through a pack of beer he’d bought himself earlier in the day. Normally, Ginoza stayed well away from alcohol; he saw no fun in losing your senses, and it could cloud your judgement. After all, a recent study had shown that people who drank more ran the risk of a cloudier hue. Walking in on his father popping open another can, he raised a cynical eyebrow.

“Sorry, I stole your futon and your TV,” Masaoka shrugged.

“You said you’d stay on the couch,” Ginoza shook his head. “Just… whatever. Never mind. I suppose that’s better –”

“If you’re worried about waking me up when you go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, don’t. I won’t wake up.”

 _Demon_ , Nobuchika thought, his father’s uncanny talent for predicting thoughts and actions unsettling him. Before he could even try to talk again, the TV caught his attention – his father had tuned into the news, and the story it was covering piqued his interest slightly. “Now, onto our next story,” the presenter was saying, smiling into the camera. Behind him, a picture of a boy no more than eight popped up; clearly the subject of the news story. “The third grade boy from Saitama who went missing yesterday evening was found safe and sound this morning on a road in Yokohama. He was taken to hospital but suffered no injuries…”

“Hey, Nobuchika,” Masaoka spoke up, a pensive edge in his voice. “Do you remember?”

“What?”

“What happened in the neighbourhood when you were in fifth grade,” his eyes never moved away from the story, which had started talking about similar disappearances from earlier that month; as far as Ginoza knew, Division Three was working on this case – the culprit didn’t seem to be malicious to the extent he harmed the children; his goal was causing distress. Furtively, his father shot him a glance out of the corner of his eye. “Your memories are probably a bit fuzzed, saying that.” He picked up his beer again and had a slug. “Back then, we all desperately tried to get you little kids to forget even a little what had happened.” Another drink, but shorter this time. “Your lives were in danger, after all.”

Puzzled by his father’s remarks, Ginoza later lay on the couch staring up at the ceiling, his mind whirring like a well-greased machine. For whatever reason, the memories refused to come, even when he called for them. _When I was in fifth grade… an abduction…_

Those picturesque houses, dull beacons against the gloomy backdrop.

Those festival lanterns, swaying in the wind.

That oppressive white park, the crimson scarf settling on the snow like a blood stain.

_Two of my classmates went missing._


	2. there's something wrong

Once he’d settled into an uncomfortable sleep, his mind was infested with dreams. Perhaps they were even recollections he’d buried, only surfacing now once he thought of the past.

_He found himself standing as an observer in a green field, and the high sun in the sky let him know that this was during the summertime. Golden happy days with no school, just plentiful fun. Cheerful school children ran around in the park, playing a game of baseball, shouting “go, go, go!” at each other with abrasive voices. All Ginoza knew was that he’d never properly joined in on these games; he’d always thought he’d been bad at it, so he never properly tried._

_Settling into the grass with a soft sound, almost like a whisper, a paper airplane landed gently, and automatically, Ginoza’s eyes tore away from the world he would never be part of, and down to the little origami creation. Slowly and cautiously, he reached out to touch it, but a shadow fell across his path. Scared, Ginoza glanced up, as though he had been caught in the middle of a wrongdoing, but the man standing there was grinning cheekily at him as if he didn’t mind at all; if anything, he seemed to be encouraging him to play with the plane._

His name, what was it? _Ginoza concentrated hard, and unbidden, the name arrived, sneaking up on him like a ghost. His name was Mitsuru Sasayama, yet everyone called him Mitsu for short. If he recalled correctly, Mitsu was a friendly guy, always telling bad jokes and puns, always ready to laugh and cheer you up on a bad day. That was when Ginoza was a child, however; he was convinced that if Sasayama acted like that around him now, as an adult, then Ginoza wouldn’t be able to stand him. Either way, Sasayama made it his business to keep the lonely kids company, showing them how to build paper planes that would fly unbelievably far away (Ginoza recalled even racing against one such creation on a hot summer’s day), and he acted like a big brother to those around him._

_“Hey, Gino,” he’d called over once, when they were crafting. “Want me to tell you about the most popular guy in your class?” Unbeknownst to Sasayama, Ginoza had the good fortune to be friends with this popular kid, but his name was lost to the grown man now, and that old good friend had been swallowed up by time. Eagerly, Ginoza nodded – his younger self had found this brotherly figure impressive. “He’s cheerful and good at sports. He isn’t afraid of speaking his mind, but sometimes he screws around for a laugh. However, there’s one thing that he’ll always be deadly serious about.”_

_“That’s awesome!” the young boy had looked up at the mentor with wide eyes._

_“That’s called profiling,” Sasayama explained sagely, and guffawed like a moron when the boy tried to repeat the word. “Popular people are usually like that guy though, so it’s not so impressive.” He looked at the boy with a friendly expression. “What if you tried imitating him? In a couple of areas or so. Maybe you’d make a couple new friends.”_

With a steady exhale, Inspector Ginoza opened his eyes to morning light shining through the blinds; his back ached from sleeping awkwardly on the couch, yet he didn’t notice it – he’d slept in worse positions, such as slumped over his desk at work, seeing no point in going home. As he stood up to brew some coffee – judging from the loud snores emanating from his room, his father was still sound asleep – his mind focused on Mitsuru Sasayama. If he remembered correctly (which was difficult to know as he could barely recollect most of his childhood), six months after the disappearances, he was arrested as a serial kidnapper and serial murderer.

A moment after he finally reclined at the table, the door to his room opened, and out stamped his bleary-eyed father, who seemed a tad affected by last night’s intake of alcohol. “Smells like coffee,” he grunted gruffly at his son. “Mind making me a cup, Nobuchika?” Silently, Ginoza fulfilled his request, and sat down again, staring into his own reflection in the liquid’s surface, finishing the drink in small sips as to savour the taste. On the other hand, his father knocked the drink back in one as though it was a shot (not that Ginoza had much experience with those), and exhaled deeply once he’d finished. “That was nice.”

“Did you even taste it?” Ginoza asked flatly, fiddling with the handle of his mug.

“Of course I did,” his father assured him. “Now, I realise that I might have said some strange things last night, probably because of the beer,” he looked apprehensively at the room, “and I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t upset me.”

“I don’t believe that for a second, but it’s fine,” Masaoka shrugged. “I wouldn’t worry if I were you, Nobuchika. You can’t change the past, as much as we’d love to.” There was something unspoken between them, a _mom_ -shaped thing. “Besides, all that worrying’s not good for your noggin.” Jokingly, he tapped the side of his skull with his finger and winced slightly. “Ah, I think I’m a bit tender from all that booze. Might go and get a bit more shut-eye.” He winked, and rose from the table, heading over to his room. “We’ll do something later, alright?”

Despite the fact he wanted to retort that he was no longer and child and didn’t need accompanying anymore, Ginoza said nothing and just nodded. Once his father’s snores had resumed, Ginoza plugged in his earphones to be rid of the sound, and delved into his copy of _Fathers and Sons_ , which always soothed him when he felt anxiety or a modicum of distress.

In the mid-afternoon, once he’d recovered from his ‘slight’ hangover and gotten himself presentable, Masaoka and Ginoza went food shopping; normally, Ginoza greeted it like yet another monotonous chore he had to tick off a list, but when he was a kid, he loved accompanying his father to the shops, doing mental maths when greeted with deals and percentages, or looking at all the tasty cakes on the shelves. As usual, his father bought far too many groceries and then expected him to carry it all with absolutely no offer of help. “You bought too much,” he chastised his father stubbornly, but Masaoka simply shrugged it off, carefree.

“What, is it too heavy for you, Nobu?” he laughed. “It might be a good work out for those skinny arms of yours, huh?!” At his own hilarity, he laughed harder, but Nobuchika simply glowered at him. “It’s no biggie. You can just have curry for the next few days.”

Behind him, a child began to wail uncontrollably, as loud as a foghorn and as irritating as an unnecessary siren. A cursory glance at the toddler saw that he was sobbing after dropping his ice-cream, and his poor mother (who had deep bags under her eyes) was trying her damnedest to cheer him up with promises of another one. The scene was covered up by a black car driving past, masking the child’s screams, though unfortunately not silencing them.

Feeling like he’d been drowned in an ice-cold lake, a muffled scream in his mind, Ginoza found himself standing outside the supermarket, a few paces back from where he had been standing. “Nobu, what’s wrong?”

“Huh?” Ginoza blinked, confused for a second as his mind caught up – _revival!_ – and shook his head. “Nothing.”

 “Is it too heavy for you, Nobu?” Masaoka asked him for the first and second time. “It might be a good work out for those skinny arms of yours, huh?!” At his own hilarity, he laughed harder, but Nobuchika simply glowered at him. “It’s no biggie. You can just have curry for the next few days.” The question fell on deaf ears, as Ginoza had other, more pressing concerns, and was already scanning the supermarket parking lot for signs of danger. Once more, the child began to sob uncontrollably, but this time, it didn’t have the importance enough to mildly irritate him. Even though he was looking all over, taking everything in, he couldn’t see anything that was even slightly out of place. What was going to happen?

Finally, he caved in, more desperate. “Dad, would you look around?” At his request, his father shot him a quizzical look. “Don’t you… have a weird feeling?” It was shitty excuse, but it was all he could come up with in the time allowed.

“What are you talking about?” his father grinned, but the smile faded off his face when he saw how deadly serious his son’s expression was. “Thinking about it, you’ve asked me the same thing in the past, haven’t you?”

“Did I?” he didn’t remember ever doing that – he hated relying on his father.

“Yeah,” Masaoka nodded. “It was about a fire back then. If you hadn’t said anything, that house would have been toast.” Ginoza stood back to back with his father; the son scanned the storefront, and his father scanned the parking lot.

Unseen by Ginoza, Masaoka’s head turned sharply after having spotted something from the corner of his eye; a man with an obscured face was holding onto a small girl’s hand. Maybe an onlooker would consider them father and daughter, but Masaoka thought – no, knew – differently. The man had his face angled to watch him, but on seeing Masaoka’s face, he turned away. In suspicion, Masaoka narrowed his eyed, one-hundred percent certain that the other man had been looking at the old-time detective. Keeping his eye fixated on the man’s receding back, Masaoka saw him clamber into a black car and drive away. Standing in its wake was the girl he was with, unaffected and eating ice cream.

Meanwhile, Ginoza was convinced that nothing had happened, and he was in the clear. Already he was chalking it up to an anomalous revival, but when he turned around, his father had pulled out his smartphone (god knows how he’d managed to use it) to take a photo of the license plate of a passing car.

Before he could ask his father why, a cheerful voice cut through the air. “ _Giii-nooo-zaaa! Hey!_ ” Standing by the storefront was the ever-idealistic and naïve Tsunemori, waving as she approached. Obviously, she hadn’t been looking for things that were out of place, and so she believed that all was well in the world. It was better off that way, he supposed.

After introducing herself politely to Masaoka, who seemed too deep in thought to be chatty, he then offered to walk her to the station. On the way there, his father strode ahead of them, his mind clearly thinking things through – with Akane here, however, Ginoza could not ask the pressing questions that were bouncing around in his skull.

“I can’t believe it! Your father?” Akane was asking him in a hushed tone, not wanting to disturb aforementioned father.

“Do you believe in demons?” Ginoza asked tiredly, but the joke was lost on her, as she stared at him blankly.

“Are the two of you fighting?” she asked gently.

“No,” Ginoza shook his head – his relationship with his father was too complicated to properly explain, and if he was going to speak about it, it wouldn’t be with a casual acquaintance like Akane, and nor would it be within a ten-mile radius of his father, who would somehow just know Ginoza was discussing him. _Demon_.

Finally, Masaoka spoke up, back to his cheerful social self. “So, you said your name is Akane?” Akane nodded warmly at the suggestion. “I’m gonna make curry for dinner. I was wondering if you’d like to share it with us?”

“Of course, that’s very kind, Mr. Masaoka!” Akane bowed her head out of politeness. “I’ll help you make it!” _She’s coming over?_ Ginoza thought with a heavy heart – not that he didn’t like Akane, but she was only a colleague, after all. She sped up to catch up to Masaoka, leaving the shopping bag-laden Ginoza behind. “Hmm, now that I think about it, I’m _starving_!”

Unbeknownst to all three of them, they were being studied intently from the window of a black car.

***

Once the preparations for dinner had been made, Akane and Masaoka brought it out jovially, and set it on the table with a mighty: “Let’s eat!” Ginoza could only wonder why and how those two remained so chipper all of the time – though he appeared old, his father had the spirit of a young man with all the hope in the world, and Akane was the type to rely and trust others easily. Both of them, Ginoza had classified as ‘fools’. Just as happily as she’d been acting, Akane dug straight into the food, and grinned up at the chef. “This is delicious!”

“Thank you very much, little missy!” Masaoka beamed back at her as brightly as the sun. “You know, at first I thought you were far too young to be my Nobu’s girlfriend, but it turns out you guys just know each other from work.”

“Sorry we’re not dating,” Akane apologised, and Ginoza could only look at her briefly with a look of confusion. Why was she apologizing for a stupid reason like that? His love life and Akane’s love life were of no concern to Masaoka, yet the olfactory hound seemed to love sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. At her apology, Masaoka simply laughed again, finding it quite hilarious, but Akane pressed on after another bite of the fluffy rice and fragrant curry: “To me, Inspector Ginoza is… hmm, how can I put this? He’s a co-worker and friend I can respect and trust.”

Seeing that his son had stopped eating, Masaoka looked up. “Too spicy for you or something, Nobu?”

“No,” Ginoza admitted, picking up his fork again. “It’s good.”

Once the meal was over, Akane helped Ginoza clean up, and afterwards, she bowed deeply in thanks to Masaoka. “Thank you once again, Mr. Masaoka!”

Obliged to appear as accommodating as he could, Ginoza pulled his shoes and jacket on as well. “I’ll accompany you to the station,” he offered, but Masaoka grinned.

“Leaving already? Why don’t you stay the night?”

“I’m sure Inspector Tsunemori has her private life to attend to,” Ginoza reminded him sharply as he slammed the door behind them.

Since it was during the autumn months, the weather fluctuated from warm to cold in a moment’s notice, and the crisp night air had a slightly chilly edge to it that pinched Ginoza’s skin, and caused gooseflesh to rise. For a while, they walked in silence, breath steaming in front of their faces, crystallising the shared moment just for a second. “Thank you for having me over today, Ginoza.”

“No problem,” Ginoza answered quietly. “I had a nice evening.” At this, Akane dropped her head, abashed by something Ginoza couldn’t detect.

Once he’d dropped her off at the station, he walked briskly home, not enjoying being out at night. Besides, he had words for his father that had been annoying him all damn day; he felt like inviting Akane over had been a ploy by Masaoka to simply delay the inevitable. As anticipated, his father was drinking another alcoholic beverage, another type of beer from the look and smell of it.

“Welcome home,” his gruff voice greeted his son, but Ginoza didn’t exchange any pleasantries.

“Tsunemori is my co-worker; don’t treat her like potential-wife material,” he scolded his father – shouldn’t their roles be reversed?

“You’re dense, Nobuchika,” his father grinned into his can. “I think you have a chance with that girl. After all, she did say she respects you.”

“I’m telling you to come off it,” Ginoza snapped irascibly. “For the last time, I’m not attracted to every woman I speak to. Akane has much more potential in life than to be someone’s girlfriend. Besides, Tsunemori is an incredibly polite person. She was just being kind. Don’t read so much into it.”

Another gulp of disgusting drink. “She didn’t strike me as a diplomatic type, if you ask me.”

“Well, I’m not asking you!” Grumpily, Ginoza began to stomp off to his room, wanting to claim for his own that night, but he stopped in his tracks when his father spoke up again.

“Nobuchika, about this afternoon,” he paused to sigh, “in the supermarket parking lot.”

“What about it?” His annoyance at his parent had dulled any curiosity he had, his pride preventing him from asking any questions.

“That abduction case was never solved, was it?”


	3. the end is near at hand

As his father lay napping the next morning, Ginoza pulled on his coat and shoes and headed to a library, seeking out any information book there could have been on past crimes. he’d still been unable to shake the mysterious feeling that had settled into his gut, an intuition screaming at him that something was amiss, and he had to find out the truth. As an Inspector… no, as a detective, it was a duty calling out for him to fulfil. If he used the Internet to research it, no doubt it would be noticed by his father, and no doubt it would be noticed by the people he worked with – questions that he didn’t want to answer would be asked.

Once he’d settled on a relatively unbiased and trustworthy source, he sat down at a table and began to read. Scanning the contents page, he established that the one he needed was the one titled _Wakkanai Elementary School Serial Killer_. Staring up at him in a grainy black-and-white photo was Sasayama, all traces of that jovial smile gone, replaced by a grim expression of accepting one’s grisly fate; a caption underneath established that he was indeed a death-row inmate, sentenced to die as soon as his guilt forced his crime coefficient above 300. Even as an Inspector, Ginoza did not have the clearance to go and see him and ask questions, probably since he had connections with him in the past. It was a minor setback. Something akin to anger made his fists tighten around the page, and the book shook slightly in his grip. _Calm down_ , he told himself sternly. Impatiently, he flipped over to the next page, usually where it featured a page about the victims and their circumstances.

Gazing up at him were three even worse photos of children aged no more than eleven, each with their own column. For whatever reason, his eyes were drawn to the girl in the centre, a crimson scarf wrapped around her neck. Underneath her photo was the caption: **AOYANAGI RISA (10)**. Suddenly, it struck him; he remembered; this girl, Aoyanagi, was one of his classmates that was abducted when he was in fifth grade. From the dream he’d had whilst unconscious in hospital, he recalled the white sea that was the local park in the winter, and how she’d always been there alone. It wasn’t as though she and Ginoza had been friends, but…

That night, he’d been walking home himself, and he’d seen her. To call out to her, he’d raised a hand to his face, but immediately lowered it again, feeling better of it than to disturb her. How he’d carried on walking, looking at his shoes and cursing his cowardice. That was the last time he’d ever seen Aoyanagi. Since then, her face had been immortalised on a memorial back in Wakkanai, which Ginoza stopped by once or twice before he moved away for good. It all came flooding back to him, how he’d sat in the PSB’s Wakkanai branch as just an eleven-year-old boy, crying on the Inspector who’d quizzed him, his father holding his hand under the table. Even now, the words echoed in his mind: “ _I could have saved her! If I’d said ‘let’s walk home together’, then Aoyanagi would be…_ ”

With a sharp snap, he closed the book, looking away. That was thought he wanted to forget most of all, yet here it was, cutting across his heart like a razor blade. Chances were his father had tried hard to erase it from his memory – it was hard to forget the look of pity he’d shot his son when he’d begun to bawl into that old jacket of his.

At the desk, he loaned the book out, stashing it in a secret pocket in the lining of his coat. A quick check of his watch told him he had half an hour to get to the Tokyo PSB quarters before his shift began, and he headed off, irritated that he didn’t have enough time to look further into that closed-off case.

***

Unbeknownst to Ginoza, Masaoka had awoken to find his son gone, and knew that he’d gone to investigate a case that was nearly twenty years cold. From what he understood, his son wasn’t in immediate danger, so there was no need to bother him. Though Masaoka hated to admit it, he knew his son’s clear distaste of him, and all of it stemmed back to that case, frozen in time. As he poured himself a mug of coffee, and then another, and another, the gears in his experienced mind began to turn and whirl. Even though the years had aged him, he wasn’t any less quick, and wasn’t about to be overtaken by a man that wasn’t even in his thirties, not even his own son.

What did he remember about the scene? He pulled out his phone and brought up the picture on the screen intently. On the number plate, though a tad blurred was _wa_ – straight away, he could tell it was a rental car, so that ended the line of investigation involving tracing the car back, since it would just lead to a rental store. What had happened there was definitely an attempted abduction, but what puzzled the old man was how the suspect had changed his mind so suddenly. Was it because the detective saw him? After all, he’d shielded his eyes almost instantly when he’d seen him, as if attempting to cover his identity. Then that meant the criminal and he were known to each other, and that chilled him since he must know the guy from some place. It was right on the tip of his tongue, but the fog in his brain prevented him from remembering. _When? Where?_ At a stretch, he could maybe say that the guy had eyes you wouldn’t forget easily, so a colour out of the ordinary. Normal hues involved brown, or black, or maybe grey. Unusual colours would be things like green, like his and Nobuchika’s, or blue, or… _gold_.

From his fingers toppled the coffee cup, spilling the murky liquid on the table, some splashing onto his pants. In his hurry, he mopped it with his sleeve, and pulled up the Internet function on his phone, and began to type hurriedly, bringing up old reports on it and newspaper articles. _The killer might not have been Mitsuru Sasayama after all_ , he thought to himself, cursing the ground he stood on, staring down at the information on the screen in horror. The eighteen years of strife and tension between him and Nobuchika could have been avoided if he’d just done his damn job right.

With another brainwave, he accessed his old files, all from the time Nobuchika was six years old. The same modus operandi, he noted, as his wife’s smiling face beamed up at him, details of her death ruining it forever. In a high school in Wakkanai where Sae worked as an English teacher was the scene of another grisly serial murder with the same M.O, and to this day it remained an unsolved case. Sae had been the last victim, and Masaoka had an idea why – she was always so worried for her students, and she’d taken matters into her own hands. Nobuchika had been six.

_Sae, Nobuchika, I’ve done it. I’ve done it too late. I failed both you._

Stumbling away from the table, he went to his bag in Nobuchika’s room which he’d brought with him, and pulled out an old journal that he’d kept for various things from the last seventeen years. As anticipated on a lose sheet at the back was a scrap of paper with a number on it, and Masaoka could only hope to the gods it would work as he punched the number in.

After three rings, the familiar voice answered, and the relief coursed through Masaoka. “Hello?” it asked.

“Hello,” Masaoka responded quickly. “Long time no talk, huh? It’s Tomomi Masaoka.”

After his phone call, he properly wiped up the spillage in the kitchen before making yet another mug of coffee to clear the remnants of the booze-induced fog in his brain; for this, he’d need his wits about him. By now, he was well and utterly convinced that the true killer was committing the same crime over and over again with the same basic modus operandi as seventeen years later and hundreds of miles away. Pottering throughout the house, he left the slip of paper in the key-bowl by the front door so that Nobuchika could find it easily should he ever need assistance; chances were that the two had already met.

One thing was obvious: the case was not over yet.

“I gotta talk to Nobuchika,” Masaoka spoke aloud, trying to break the silence swallowing him; he raised a hand to his head. “Now seems like a good time as any. He’s a man grown and a police inspector.”

In the background, he heard the door click open – no doubt Nobuchika back from his errands, or his own private investigation. It would have been better if they worked together, but he knew his son’s distrust of him. No damn wonder, after he proved himself to be a terrible detective. “Nobuchika?” he called out, craning his head to look.

Suddenly, pain was… everywhere, exploding from his lower back to the rest of his body. Initially, it was beyond cold, but then turned into a searing, agonising pain. Briefly looking down, he saw a knife being jammed into his spine with gloved hands, pushing it in as far as he could manage. Tomomi Masaoka was no hero, and he did not have superpowers; he was just human, and a relatively old human at that. He collapsed to the floor like a dead weight, and felt the disgusting feeling of blood pooling around him, soaking his shirt.

With the last ounce of his strength, he cast his green eyes upwards to get a final look at his attacker, and didn’t miss the knife handle sticking out of his body; he couldn’t even see a sliver of the blade. As the breath went out of him, he felt a small sense of relief that he’d been right, and he watched the killer fix his gloves back on – he was stood there expectantly waiting for him to die.

At last, Masaoka’s thoughts turned to his son. _I have to call Nobuchika_ , he thought, and slowly, his bloody hand reached out for the mobile device on the kitchen table. _I’ll tell him not to come home, and I’ll tell him… sorry._ Nothing would ever erase the image of his young son, utterly crushed and defeated as he sat opposite the Wakkanai Inspectors, his co-workers, tears pouring out his eyes as he insisted, over and over: “I could have saved her life!” and once the Inspectors gently informed him Sasayama was guilty, he’d cried harder and grabbed Masaoka’s trench coat, saying: “I’m sure it wasn’t Mitsu! It wasn’t Mitsu, Dad!”

 _I should have believed him back then_. His fingers brushed the plastic of the device. _Even if the PSB didn’t, I should have done._ Effortlessly, the killer plucked the phone off the table and from under Masaoka’s weak hand, and his hand flopped uselessly on the table, and then to the floor.

Unbidden, tears sprang to the old detective’s eyes as he realised he would never hear his son or see him again, and a solitary tear slipped down his cheeks. _Nobuchika… I’m sorry. Sae… I’m sorry._ Automatically, his mind drifted through the times he and Nobuchika had shared over the years, all without Sae from when Nobuchika was a young age. With thoughts of his wife and son, a photographic memory from twenty-three years in the past, when they’d all gone to a festival together drifted to his brain.

Tomomi Masaoka managed a final smile, and just like that, he passed on from the world.

***

After a long shift, Nobuchika Ginoza straightened from his desk, and bid the on-duty Enforcers and Inspector Tsunemori a good evening, and they cheerfully said farewell in return. By courtesy, he felt obliged to say goodbye to Sakuya Tougane, his boss. “Hey, Inspector Ginoza!” Akane called cheerfully at him before he left. “I bet I can tell you what you had for breakfast this morning!”

“Huh?” Ginoza stared at her in confusion.

“Curry!” she announced.

“You’re right,” he informed her. “With as much as Masaoka made, of course I’m going to eat it for breakfast too.”

“Well, ask if I can put a request in with your father,” Akane grinned up at him. “That curry was to die for!”

“Alright,” Ginoza said, slightly scared of her sunny disposition. “See you.” With that, he exited the office, but he couldn’t be sure if Tougane was glaring at him from the corner of his eyes or not.

When he’d gone, Akane couldn’t help but notice a book left on Ginoza’s desk with a page marked by a neon yellow sticker. When she was sure nobody was looking, she picked the book up, scanned the cover, and slipped it into her bag.

As Ginoza stepped up the stairs outside his apartment, he passed another person; unusual for this time of night. From what he could see, the man was wearing a dark suit, gloves, and glasses, incredibly similar as to how he was dressed. From underneath his hat, the man shot him a calculating look, but the moment was far too short for Ginoza to truly assess it, and the man was gone.

Stepping onto the landing to where the doors to the apartments were situated, he noted with distaste that his door had been left ajar by his father. Still, something made him stare back down the stairwell – did Masaoka have a visitor or something? Cooling his rage and burying it deep inside him, Ginoza closed the door behind him, and couldn’t help but notice a slip of paper in his key-bowl, simply because it was out of place. Scanning it, he realised it was a phone number and shoved it into his coat pocket. “Dad, what are you doing?” he called out as he stepped into the hall, not bothering to remove his shoes. “This isn’t your house in Wakkanai, you know! I could have had my stuff stolen – at least lock the door!”

Strangely, his father did not respond – _was he even here?_

What greeted him instantly as he stepped into the kitchen was his father’s bloodied body; shock coursed through him like a punch to the gut. If he wasn’t used to seeing stuff like this, he would have been sick; even now, all he could do was stare in shock. “Hey...” his voice was barely a hoarse whisper. “Hey…” Like a puppet with broken strings, he walked to his father methodically. “Answer me.” Even as he approached, reality was setting in. “No way… knock it off. Wake up, Dad! Dad!”

Slowly, he turned his father’s body over; it was hard to miss the knife handle sticking out of him, or the hollow emptiness of his eyes, or the blood gathering around his body. Something sticky on his hand made him jump back with a scream of horror. Looking down the hall, he could see once again his door was open, and there stood his neighbour, holding a curry dish in her hand. “Last night your kind father shared some curry with me,” she explained awkwardly. “I thought I should return this. I did knock, I’m not sure if you… heard… me…”

Ginoza followed her eyes down to his hand, which was covered in blood, and not his blood either. She let out a soul-wrenching scream, dropping the dish and running downstairs – already outside he could hear sirens whirring. It was obvious now; he was being framed. The real killer had given the PSB a ‘tip’ that painted him black, and he had no doubts that Tougane would love to see him arrested, or at the very least publicly humiliated.

All he knew was that he had to get away, as he stepped onto the landing outside his apartment, where two unfamiliar officers stood. “Are you Nobuchika Ginoza? We were wondering if we could take you down to the station…” Whatever they said next was lost on Ginoza’s deaf ears. _What is this? Wrong, this is all wrong. It wasn’t me… It wasn’t me!_ Images of his deceased father filtered into his brain, and without even thinking about it, he spun on his heel and began to sprint away from everything. “Hey, don’t run!”

Unbidden, images of the man on the stairwell came back, and his breath came out in short bursts with the starting of a panic attack. An icy feeling flooded through him, and believing it to be the Non-Lethal Paralyser of a Dominator, he shut his eyes.

When he opened them again, he was stood in a snowy landscape; taking a look around helped him determine it was a village or town of some kind that was currently in the throes of winter. _Did I… have another revival?_ He wondered, walking forwards down the path he was on. In front of his face, his breath misted up. Deep down, this town a tone of familiarity; he recognized it. Where had he seen all this before?

Snapping him out of reverie was a heavy thump on his back, as a ginger boy no more than ten years of age thumped him on the back. “Yo, Gino! You’re gonna be late!” he called out with a tone of joy as he sprinted on ahead of him. Automatically, Ginoza began to chase after him, wanting to follow where he was going and working something out. _Who is he?_ Ginoza wondered, staring levelly at the backpack on the boy’s back.

Turning the corner in their spontaneous race, Ginoza willingly froze to a halt, colour draining from his face and eyes widening. In front of him, in neat official letters was **WAKKANAI ELEMENTARY** ; on a banner by this title announced that this school hosted the proud ice hockey champions of 2095.

“2095?” Ginoza repeated breathlessly. There was no doubting it; he was in the Wakkanai of seventeen years ago.  


	4. so quite it began

As Ginoza walked into his old classroom, the sounds of cheerful chatter washed over his ears like a gentle sea lapping at his toes. _“Did you see last night’s episode?” – “Didn’t they next week was the last one?” – “Oh, man, I totally forgot all about it!”_ Still, it wasn’t registering to Ginoza that he was indeed in 2095 – on the board at the front of the classroom in an incredibly neat hand was the date: November 27 th. With a childish sense of giddiness rising to his brain, it registered that his birthday had been less than a week ago; inside, he was sort of disappointed that he’d missed it – he couldn’t remember the last time he’d received presents for his birthday, but he did remember the feeling of unwrapping them.

Quietly, the door at the opposite end of the classroom opened, and his teacher, Yukimori Shibata, strolled through, a roster and a well-thumbed paperback book under his arm. “Good morning, everyone,” he greeted in a pleasant burr, his eyes gleaming down at the classroom, soft, unthreatening smile on his face. In his mind, Ginoza remembered this teacher; his intelligence was clearly higher than his own even now, and it was a wonder what on earth he was doing teaching basic sums and kanji to elementary school children. At the sound of his greeting, the children rushed to sit in their seats, ready to learn. Ginoza couldn’t blame them, since his lessons were always informative and interesting; he had a talent for making impressionable children like themselves cling to his every word. Noticing that Ginoza was still lingering by the door, Mr. Shibata send him a quizzical look. “What’s the matter, Nobuchika? Take your seat, please.”

“Uh…” Ginoza swallowed. “Yes, sir.” Where did he sit? Slowly closing the door behind him and making his way across the classroom; amidst the jungle of desks, he spotted an empty seat, and gratefully put his bag down on the desk, ready to sit down.

Next to him, the boy seated there scowled. “You still half-asleep or something, Ginoza? That’s Aoyanagi’s desk.”

“It looks like Risa is late again today,” the teacher hummed disapprovingly.

Behind him, Ginoza glimpsed another empty seat next to a girl with a bun in her hair, tied up with an orange scrunchie. In her hands she’d placed her head and was staring up at him like she knew something he didn’t, which unnerved him slightly. As he took the correct seat there, she leaned over and said: “Are you in love with Aoyanagi, Ginoza?” she smirked at Ginoza’s bewildered expression, before haughtily sticking her nose in the air. “You’d make a cute couple,” she said dreamily, but her tone turned scornful, “You’re both weird.” Ignoring her, Ginoza stared ahead as Mr. Shibata began to take attendance.

_Is this for real? Why did I end up here? What’s the meaning of this? It’s seventeen years ago…_

With all these thoughts jumping around uncontrollably, a nervous sweat broke out on Ginoza’s forehead, and he tried to focus on the desk in front of him; at this point in development, chances were his mental state wasn’t as fortitudinous as it was after years of training and working as an Inspector. Once break time turned rolled around, Ginoza stood up gratefully and made to move away – the girl, who he’d since discovered was called Mika Shimotsuki had left– but the black-haired boy with bright blue eyes opposite him looked up from his book and called out: “Nobu, what’s wrong?” Ginoza gave the book a quick glance – _in search of lost time_ , from the looks of it, far too heavy for a child as young as eleven to be reading.

“I’ve got a headache, so I’m going to the nurse’s office,” Ginoza lied.

“With your backpack?” the boy asked. Ginoza looked at him properly – he was perceptive for one so young, perhaps even a small Inspector in the making. Clearly he was smart; but his name eluded Ginoza still. When the green-haired boy did not reply, he shook his head slightly and turned to his book. “Whatever, don’t worry about it. I’ll let Mr. Shibata know.”

Why didn’t Ginoza remember his name? It was right there, at the forefront of his mind. All that came up was _Kou_ , so for now, he’d call him that.

In the cloakroom, he shoved his jacket on clumsily and shoved his backpack on his back; as he did so often with criminals, he broke out into a full out sprint down the stairs and through the halls to reach the entrance. _What the hell’s going on? Is this Revival?_ Ginoza simply didn’t understand it – why had he gone back this far? Normally it was five minutes and under – not nearly two decades into the past! What was the possible tragedy he had to prevent?

Like an icy blast, it dawned on him.

Dashing through the front doors of his school and stumbling over his own feet, he called out, “Dad!” before he could stop it. On his travel he rushed past a girl about his own age, with short brown hair and narrow hazelnut eyes. Wrapped around her neck and over the long black coat was a crimson scarf. As Ginoza passed her, Risa Aoyanagi turned around to stare.

Wakkanai was mostly as Ginoza remembered it; snow falling, temperatures below freezing, permanently grey skies. Working through muscle memory of his eleven-year-old mind, Ginoza found his own feet stomping their own path through the snow as he headed home. Soon, he found himself stood outside his front door, the kanji for Masaoka and Ginoza printed neatly side-by-side. For a minute, Ginoza tugged at the door handle and tried to unlock it, and pressed the doorbell a few times; irrationally, he feared his father dead. Shaking off his fear – _think of your Hue, dammit_! – he tried to think logically. At this time, his father would be at the Wakkanai PSB, and he wouldn’t get home until five at the earliest; more often than not it was much, much later. Where did the old bastard keep the spare key? It was in the most cliché place; in the door-box. With a mildly irritated sigh, Ginoza picked it up and unlocked the front door.

_“This isn’t your house in Wakkanai, you know! I could have had my stuff stolen – at least lock the door!”_

Stepping in the house, he was engulfed by a warmness like an old familiar blanket; the old smells he associated with childhood came back, the scents of cooking from this morning, and his mom’s favourite air freshener that his Dad kept buying to remember her by, a traditional cinnamon scent of winter. Everything was organised (or rather, not) as it was, with all the cups a mish-mash of colour, and the room in faded colours, every surface kept impeccably clean – when his mother had been around, she impressed on the both of them the importance of a clean and tiny house.

For the first time in years, Ginoza was home.

Feeling as though his feet weren’t attached to his body, he moved further in the house, and moved to the room he shared with his parent, and cuddled like a child in the large blanket that used to cover all three of them.

_…Dad…_

Hours later, he woke up when his father’s shadow fell over him. Masaoka seemed unaffected by his presence there, but clearly was aware that his son had run from school. As always, he gave his son a huge grin. “Hey there, kiddo.”

“Dad…” Automatically, Ginoza felt his eyes mist over, glad to see the old man he’d wasted years of his life hating alive and breathing.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Ginoza had already shaken off the sadness, and was getting to his feet. “Just…happy to see you.”

“You little weirdo,” his father chuckled, shrugging off the tan coat. He’d been wearing that when he died, Ginoza remembered, and then his next thought was: _How old is that thing anyway?!_ “So, whaddya want for dinner? Hamburger or meatballs?”

“Uh,” Ginoza paused, unused to handmade dinners, and also unused to the feeling of being taken care of. “Hamburger?”

“You don’t sound so sure,” his father teased as he moved to the kitchen, pulling ingredients off the shelves in the fridge. Unlike a lot of parents, his father made all meals, especially dinner, by hand, not trusting the readymade meals dished about by the AI. All their furniture was store-bought too, without any holograms; no wonder so many considered this lifestyle weird. Even Ginoza found it odd after so many years of depending on AI.

Over dinner, Masaoka’s usual banter started again; even seventeen years in the past, the old man (who wasn’t so old now, it had to be said) was his buoyant self – he never changed. “I see you’re in a good mood. Not like this morning when you pitched your little fit. Guess you found your folder, didn’t you?”

Nobuchika looked down at his plate. “Yeah. I did. I’m sorry.”

“It’s nothing to cry about, son,” Masaoka’s tone was gentle, and Ginoza looked up at him, feeling the tears on his face, and he lifted a cautious finger there. Masaoka simply beamed at him in hopes of making his tears go away. As a child, his father never discouraged tears (“ _It’s better to get it out now. When you’re an adult, you won’t be allowed to cry, even if you really want to_.”)

Nobuchika remembered moments like these, simply, silly moments which in the grand scheme of things, weren’t important at all… but they were important to him, especially now. When he was a child, he took it all for granted, and never once spared a thought towards them. He let times like these just slip him by, without even thinking about it. He knew by now that it definitely was revival. It was his second chance – and there was no way in hell he’d let this slip by.

Placing his chopsticks on his empty plate, the boy spoke up. “Dad?”

“Hmm?” his father was drinking out of a can, cider this time. Did he always drink so much?

“This is really good. Thank you.”

At the graveness of his son’s tone and face, Masaoka lowered his can. “You sure you’re okay there, little man?”

“Thanks for dinner.”

“You’re… welcome?” his father seemed incredibly confused, but smiled all the same.

Was there ever a time his father wasn’t smiling?

 

 

The next morning, he made his way back to his elementary school, mind twisting down several paths of logic. Since these thoughts weren’t influenced by emotions or particularly incriminated, he figured it was okay to continue.

“Good mornin’, Gino!” the ginger boy came up behind him, far too energetic for this time in the morning. Thank god he was too young to be drinking coffee.

“Hey, Kagari. Morning.” It felt strange, the familiarity and the notion he had friends. Back in the path of seventeen years in the future, Ginoza didn’t really have friends. Only now did he realise how lonely it was. Kagari fell in pace with him and began chatting about some video game (that Ginoza was only half-listening to) as he got lost in his thoughts again.

_This is definitely Revival, I’m sure of it now. I’m here for one reason – to stop something bad from happening. Maybe to save my dad, I have to start here. But am I meant to do the next eighteen years all over again? I’ve had enough of public education for one lifetime. Why so far back? Nothing seems off here!_

Out of the corner of his eye, just past Kagari’s electric blue eyesore of a jacket, he saw the brown haired girl from yesterday, wearing the same black coat, and a red scarf tightened around her neck like a bloody noose. Quickly, she strode past Kagari and Ginoza, as if she wanted to be alone. In shock, Ginoza stopped walking and watched her go; confused, Kagari did so too, and stared between Nobuchika and Risa, drawing a connection, a grin spreading across his face. _Children_ , Ginoza thought bitterly.

_Risa Aoyangi_. She lived alone with her mom, as Ginoza lived alone with his dad. During class, he watched her with his green eyes, wanting to recall anything he could about her death, and how it was that she was alive right now. _A ghost?_ A voice of his phobia piped up, and he hurriedly told it to shut up. As he was about to look away and get on with the work – basic sums he once found difficult – he was distracted by Aoyangi carelessly knocking her pencil onto the floor, and his eyes flicked up automatically. As she moved to scoop it off the floor, the material of her skirt shifted on her leg, revealing a mottled blotch on her leg that looked like spilled wine.

A purple, black and blue bruise stood stark against her pale skin, and once she straightened up, she hurried to hide it. _How’d she get that?_ Deep inside, Ginoza already knew the answer.

At break, he was subjected to childish chatter (though in all honesty, he supposed he didn’t really mind), which was driven by the talkative Kagari. “Y’know what really sucks about this group? There’s nobody to talk about video games with!” he protested, folding his arms. “I mean, Sugo watches anime and stuff, and Shion’s a girl, so she just doesn’t get it, and Kou’s always got his head stuck in some book. And you’re you, Gino!” What’s that meant to mean?

Thanks to Kagari’s protest, Ginoza finally had names to faces. The boy with the timid face and somewhat stony hair was Teppei Sugo, and the little girl with blonde hair must be Shion Karanomori, with her nails painted whatever colour took her fancy that particular week. The boy leaning against the window who sat opposite Ginoza in class was Shinya Kougami, who everyone called Kou. That was Ginoza’s best friend.

“Jeez, Kagari,” Kougami looked up from his book, still something written by Proust – how smart the kid was annoyed Ginoza; out of all of them, he was the brainiest. “If we all played video games, then that’s all we’d ever talk about. The cool thing about our group is that we all really like different things, so none of our conversations are ever boring.” Kougami’s pale blue eyes turned up to his best friends face, and he wore a smile which reminded Ginoza of Kagari that morning. “Can I ask you something, Nobu? It’s kind of personal.”

“Sure…” Ginoza replied hesitantly.

“Do you have a crush on Aoyanagi?” At that, Ginoza felt his cheeks go warm, and he looked away hurriedly at the suggestion. “I saw you staring at her in class.”

“No way,” Sugo sounded amazed and overjoyed for his friend. “Do you?”

“Totally!” Kagari burst in. “This morning he just stood there staring, he couldn’t even take his eyes off her!”

At that, Shion stood up – Ginoza remembered that this girl had always been the life of whatever room she was in, and her teasing rivalled Masaoka’s. “Oh, Ginoza, if you knew you were in love with her, you should have come to me for advice! Romance is right up my alley!” she held a painted hand to her chest. “And as a girl, I totally understand what you need to do for you to get her.”

“But-”

“No buts about it, I’ll fix you and Risa up!” she announced loudly, and Ginoza became aware of the people staring at him.

“Could you please keep your voice down?” he asked in the most measured voice he could manage.

“Why?” Shion pouted.

“It’s… I don’t love her, okay?” Ginoza established the truth. “But… I am curious about her.”

“That’s the same thing!” Kagari dismissed it with a wave of his hand, and Sugo leaned in, interested in what Ginoza had to say. 

“You’re brave to say so,” he told Ginoza sagely.

“Don’t you worry about a thing,” Shion clapped the green-eyed boy on the shoulder. “By the end of today, I guarantee you’ll be talking to the girl of your dreams!”  

 

 

Shion Karanomori had never told a lie, and that was why Ginoza found himself standing across from an unimpressed looking Risa on the way back from school. “You’re an idiot,” Aoyanagi said.

_Damn, she’s cold. That’s how you say hello?!_  “That’s how you say hello?!” the words were out before he could stop it. _Crap, I said that out loud._ Then his mind began to think of the possible things Shion had told her classmate; the closest bet was that she’d flat-out told Risa that Ginoza had a crush on her. Ginoza dismissed it, and told himself to focus.

“Um, Aoyanagi, I was thinking, since we walk the same way home, that, we, could, uh…” he tried his best to smile at her, but he was severely out of practice, “be friends?”

“Friends?” she looked equally confused and disgusted by the word. “What is it you like about me?” _I didn’t think she’d be this much of a pain in the ass._ “You don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to. I think I know. It’s because you and me are both fakes.”

_Wait… does she know about me? Not the eleven-year-old me, but the fact that I’m twenty-eight and from the future?_

“I saw you running home yesterday,” Risa continued, “you looked really happy. Do you love your dad that much?”

With a nod, Ginoza said, “Yeah.”

“That’s good,” she said, before moving away, already walking away from him. _This is a chance, say something, you idiot!_

“Aoyanagi, wait!” he called out, and she paused in her tracks and looked at him coolly. To him, she seemed a hell of a lot older than ten. “So, what do you think? Do you want to be friends?”

“Are you serious?” She gave Ginoza an analytic glance. “So does that mean that you’d kill to protect me?” When Ginoza didn’t respond, she turned around and walked steadily away, her little body buffeted by the wind.

Before he could stop it, images of the memorial held for Aoyanagi flashed through his mind – did Risa know who the killer was prior to her death? Clearly something awful was happening to Risa in the days leading up to her abduction and eventual murder, evidenced by the painful bruise on her leg. And if he could stop that, maybe he had a chance at saving her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: all of the chapter titles are/will be are named after tracks on the Boku Dake Ga Inai Machi soundtrack - it's one of my favourite soundtracks ever, since this anime really helped me through a bad time.


	5. she was here, alone

_“I think I know. It’s because you and me are both fakes.”_

After some consideration, Ginoza doubted that Aoyanagi knew he wasn’t really a kid – that would be an absurd leap in logic, even for a child. Sure, he’d understand if it was Kagari who’d said something like that, but not Aoyanagi Risa. Of all people, she seemed like a sensible soul. Perhaps it was because his behaviour was a little bizarre, especially when he was a kid. More than anything, Ginoza wanted friends, so little Nobuchika found himself acting like the person he wanted to be most of all. It was the only way how he knew how to fit in the little school world he had back then, especially growing up in a community where everybody knew everyone, and people knew how strange he and his father’s home-life was.

 _I bet she saw through that_ , Ginoza thought as he saw the retreating back of Aoyanagi out of the classroom window. _But she said she was a fake too, so maybe there’s a chance she’s hiding her true self too._

Out of the corner of his eye, Shinya Kougami watched his friend’s wistful gaze, tracking the vanishing girl.

“So, how did you make out?!” Kagari’s boisterous tone broke his thoughts, and Ginoza looked at the group with their expectant eyes.

“Yeah, Ginoza,” Shion chipped in, “are you going to tell us how it went, or not? Did you guys walk home together? Did you… _hold hands_?” At this suggestion, she sounded and looked positively scandalized, as if this was the biggest news she’d heard in forever.

“N-No!” Ginoza protested, holding his hands up in surrender from Shion’s prying questions. “We just talked for a little bit!”

“Just you two? _Alone_?!” Kagari emphasized.

“Aoyanagi never talks to anyone by themselves,” Sugo mentioned, looking shy, “so she must really like you, Nobuchika.”

“Take it easy, guys,” Kougami cut the eagerness of the group, and they all turned to him like he was their leader. “Pressuring Nobu like this isn’t going to help him.”

“Yeah, you’re right. My bad,” Shion looked somewhat disgruntled that she wasn’t hearing the juicy gossip.

“And Nobu. Don’t worry about it, alright? Next year, we’ll all be in the same class again, so there’s no need to rush things and do something you end up regretting.”

When it finally came for home-time, Ginoza looked at the date written on the side of the board. **November 29 th**. What was the date of Aoyanagi’s disappearance? He was running out of time. He couldn’t even go and fact check anything since in this timeline, the deaths hadn’t occurred.

Yet.

“Hey, Gino, you gonna make us wait all day?” Kagari called impatiently from the doorway.

“Oh, sorry. I’m coming!” he broke away from his thoughts and joined his old friends.

In the hallway, Kagari shivered as they walked. “It’s so cold. Hey, Gino, where are those cool gloves you just got?”

“I guess maybe I left ‘em somewhere,” Ginoza shrugged.

“Oh, then they’re probably in the secret hideout,” Kagari said, smug at his powers of deduction.

Ginoza nodded along and called out the group. “Hey guys, can we go to the hideout today?”

Confused, they all looked and blinked at him blankly. “What are you talking about?” Sugo asked, tilting his head, “We said we wouldn’t go there if it snows, because then everyone would see our tracks.”

“Oh, we… did? Yeah, right, I remember!” Ginoza lied.

At the school gates, they all parted ways; after waving Sugo, Shion and Kagari off, Ginoza jogged to keep up with Kougami, wanting to be polite after the encounter earlier. After calling his name, Kougami waited patiently; like Risa, he also seemed a lot more mature for eleven years of age, but Ginoza knew why – like both he and Risa, Kougami was raised in a single parent family, just he and his mom living on very low income. Since he was around seven or so, Kougami had been the man of his house, and since his mom had low wages, she worked ridiculously long hours, so Kougami had to cook and clean and do everything on his own.

To a killer, he seemed like an ideal target.

“Thanks for speaking up for me earlier,” Ginoza told his friend truthfully, “It’s like they were making such a big deal out of it. I was starting to panic.”

“I can tell,” Kougami laughed, “but you don’t have to say thanks, though. By the way, about Risa… I think it’s really good that you want to get closer to her and all. But… I do get a feeling that there’s something else going on.” For a second, Kougami stared coolly at his friend before continuing. “I don’t mean to be nosy or butt into your business, but if you ever need to talk, I’m here, alright? And it isn’t just me, but all those guys too.”

“Thanks,” Ginoza said again. “I know everyone else is trying to help – Shion did get Aoyanagi to talk to me after all.”

“So? Do you want to talk about it?”

“About what?”

“About Risa.”

“Oh, right.”

“Did you…talk to her?”

“Yeah, just for a little bit. At the end, she opened up to me a little bit.”

“That’s good,” Kougami smiled encouragingly. “I know you have a lot on your mind at the minute, but I was wondering… did you read the class composition of essays yet?”

 Ginoza shook his head. “No, I haven’t.”

“There are a few interesting ones. I think you should check them out.” He spun around, holding a hand up in a farewell gesture. “I better go. Gotta make dinner for when Mom gets home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, see you tomorrow.”

At home, Ginoza immediately checked his box in the room where he stored most of his possessions and pulled out a pristine copy of the class essay compilation. Quickly flicking through, he sought out Risa’s essay. Back there, outside school, Kougami had definitely been hinting that he should read it – he was much more on the ball than Ginoza was. Finally, his eyes rested on the relatively neat yet clumsy child’s print, with a scruffy picture accompanying it, and his eyes began to read the sad words written down there.

 

_The Town Without Me, by Risa Aoyanagi_

_When I get older, old enough to go anywhere by myself, I want to go somewhere that is far away from here. I want to go to an island; an island where there is no people; an island that doesn’t have any pain or sadness on it, either. There are no adults, children, classmates or teachers – even my mother is not there._

_On the island, when I feel as though I want to play games, I can play any kind I want; when I want to sleep, I can sleep and dream for as long as I would like; I can smile when I’m happy, and I can cry when I’m sad. I can take the lid off my feelings, so I can feel with everything I’ve got._

_On the island, I’ll often think of the town and the people that I left behind. Children will go to school, like nothing has changed. Adults will go to the office for work, like nothing has changed. Mom will have breakfast without me, like nothing has changed._

_When I think about the town without me, I feel a sense of relief. More than anything in the world, I want to go far, far away._

On the page, Ginoza’s knuckles tightened slightly – no doubt that this was a near-perfect textbook cry for help. In the past, through his job as an Inspector, he’d seen countless of cases involving children, sometimes even children experiencing abuse or living with a latent criminal for an extended period of time. During childhood, the human brain was much more fragile than it was during adulthood; it became even more sensitive during puberty (all he knew from studying endless hours at the PSB training school), hence timing was of the essence.

If only Tsunemori was here, he found himself thinking – she was a lot kinder and much better with children than he was – besides, children always found him naturally scary. “It’s because you glare at them too much, Ginoza. Why don’t you try smiling a little?” Akane had told him once. He hadn’t followed that advice and decided to let her deal with children; he felt a little bad. Maybe when he got back – _if_ he got back – he would try and show his gratitude properly.

“I’m home!” a gruff voice called out, and he slammed the book shut and shoved in the drawer as quickly as he could.

When his father peeked in, all he saw was his son ‘struggling’ over maths problems, but Ginoza dismissed the offer of help with an enthusiastic reply of “No, I want to make sure I really understand it, you know?” At that, his father had called him a nerd before throwing his long coat over his son to keep him warm and walking back to the kitchen to start making dinner.

Over the meal, Ginoza put his hands together solemnly, and thanked his father almost formally for dinner, almost forgetting quite where he was. At this somewhat odd behaviour, Masaoka studied his son for a second with a puzzled expression before shrugging and tucking in himself. As Ginoza gratuitously began shoving the dinner in himself ( _AI prepared meals had nothing on this_ , he thought to himself), he thought back to his previous conversation with Kougami, who was proving himself more and more astute by the day. Maybe Kougami had been interested in Risa’s situation too, probably because he thought she was the same as him, just how Ginoza was the same as him too. Kougami’s interest probably came from that essay, and maybe he’d thought that’s where Ginoza got his, too.

Not that he wasn’t far wrong – after reading it, he was even more worried about her.

Then, an idea struck him, but whether it was Inspector Ginoza or Nobuchika who’d come up with it, he had no idea. “Hey, Dad?”

“Yeah, what’s up?” his father asked, raising his head, lowering a bottle of ice cold _Asahi_ beer.

“You know for Mom’s party next week?” Masaoka studied his son more intently then, with a bittersweet look in his eyes. “Could I invite some friends over?”

For a second, his father looked shocked – Mom’s birthday was always a celebration between the two of them, where they’d watch funny movies together and make a cake and throw flour all over each other. Ever since his mother died, they’d always done that on her birthday, a fun commemoration of her. Once, when Ginoza asked why they threw a party and celebrated without her, Masaoka had affectionately patted his head and said that Sae would always want her house to be a happy and lively place to be. Then, his face split into a grin. “Sure. If she was here, I bet she’d love to meet all your friends.” Then, he raised an eyebrow and grinned mischievously. “They’re not imaginary, are they?”

“You’re so mean! No, they’re not!” Ginoza retorted, and Masaoka threw his head back and laughed.

“Okay, okay, how many are we talkin’? Our place is kinda poky,” Masaoka asked. Ginoza held up a small hand, five fingers outstretched. “Okay, five. You know, this is the first time you’ve asked to have a party. Should I get a big cake?”

Nobuchika nodded happily, letting his childhood self autopilot for a while. “Yep! Thanks, Dad!”

He knew what he had to do now – he had to get to know Risa better. The first time around, he didn’t do anything at all ( _yet how was he supposed to know the terrible fate lying in store for two of his friends?),_ but this time, he definitely would take action, no matter the consequences. Not just because it was his duty, but because he could. If he did that, he could make Risa do something different, and otherwise avoid the crime that would soon occur. And if he could reverse Risa’s death, it could change everything.

Now he was sounding like Tsunemori, endlessly optimistic and hopeful.

“Hey, you still awake?” his father’s voice cut across his thoughts. “You said five, so I figured you’d invite Kou, Kagari, Shion and Sugo, right? But that’s only four. Hey, Nobubu… did you get yourself a girlfriend?” Ginoza made no indication he’d heard him. “Alrighty then. Night, kid.”

 _Demon_.

As he properly began to turn into the night, Ginoza remembered how he’d hidden the essay composition in his drawer the second he got home, not wanting his father to read it – somehow, the olfactory hound would see right into his soul through a couple pretty words. Should he show the detective Risa’s essay? What would he make of that?

…What did Ginoza write about, again?

***

The next day, his friendship group were crowded around Kougami’s desk, talking about video games (Kagari), and repeatedly telling each other to shut up (Shion), as he packed his backpack, dwelling. “It’s snowing again!” Shion huffed in irritation, but Ginoza knew she didn’t really mind the cold weather all that much, since with it came the opportunity to wear her expensive earmuffs that were a present. _Ah_ , he thought bitterly to himself, _the follies of youth_.

A second later, he told himself to shut up and _stop sounding like an eighty-year-old man. You’re was twenty-eight, dammit! And right now, you’re eleven_!

“No hideout today, either,” Sugo sighed, looking somewhat upset. Ginoza knew why, since the hideout had been his idea, and the entire interior had been designed by Sugo and his elder brother using nothing but junk from the municipal junkyard.

“Hey, Gino!” Kagari called over, “Risa’s leaving! Don’t you wanna talk to her?”

“…Kagari…” Kougami threatened with a piercing glare.

“It’s okay, Shinya,” Ginoza waved off his closest friend, feeling strange at using someone’s first name for a change, “It’s not a problem – I’ll catch up to her. And thanks, Kagari. Well, see you!” he waved as he ran off, and cheerfully, they all waved him goodbye.  

“Can you believe how brave he’s gotten?” he overheard Sugo’s voice, sounding like he was his mother, and he heard a tittering giggle that must have been Shion. Still, it was nice to feel like he was being supported.

Thing was, he didn’t even have to run; he knew precisely where Risa would be at this time. Judging from the ugly bruise he’d spotted on her thigh, there was no doubt her mother was hitting her at home – internally, the Inspector was screaming; if he was his true self right now, he could do something… speaking of which, why wasn’t the PSB doing anything? – then she wouldn’t go home right away. If he was in her shoes, he’d stay away for as long as he could. Risa would most definitely be at the park until night fell. At first, Ginoza used to think she was just weird, but he didn’t any more – deep down, he realised that Kougami had known all along, and most likely never thought her strange. Kougami was a confident guy, so Ginoza wondered why he didn’t talk to Risa or do anything.

 _Kougami is eleven_ , he reminded himself sternly, _and you’re twenty-eight. As if you’d know what to do_!

True enough, standing there illuminated by artificial light emanating from a nearby streetlamp was Risa Aoyanagi, a pensive look on her face, her eyes shuttered off from any kind of emotion. _That must be the lid her essay mentioned_ , Ginoza noted. The light chilling breeze brushed through her short hair like a caress she’d likely never felt, dustings of snow settling in the strands. “Aoyanagi!” he called out, and she glanced up.

“Oh, Ginoza,” she responded flatly. “What are you doing out here?”

“That’s my line,” he said, and then smiled warmly, a strange thing. It felt as though he hadn’t smiled in years, but this time it was genuine. “I told you. I want to be friends.” At that, she looked away from him and at the somewhat magical snow settling on the grass. “Though I can’t kill anyone for you, I still want to be friends.”

“That was a joke,” Risa replied almost coldly. Funny, she didn’t seem the type to joke around, but the more you knew, huh? “Ginoza, you’re pretending too, aren’t you?” She still wasn’t looking at him. “Pretending to smile. Pretending to be nice. Pretending to be worried.” Maybe he should feel insulted. “I don’t think it’s a bad thing, and I’m not one to talk. But I can’t see you, Ginoza.”

With a soft sigh which floated visibly in the air, he assented. “You’re right.” Here, it really did feel like he was talking to a grown-up, and not an eleven-year-old girl. What was it that Tsunemori often said when they dealt with things like these? _Children that grow up too early break my heart_. He hadn’t understood what she’d meant, and why she’d looked so forlorn – wasn’t maturity a good thing for a person to develop early in life? Now, he understood. It broke his heart, too. “It’s like I’m acting. I want people to like me, and I want to have friends. But I’m socially inept and awkward, so when I asked myself, ‘what should I do to help myself?’, the answer I got was…” he took a confident step forward, unsure of his newfound arrogance. “Why didn’t I try liking everyone?”

How that ideology had died after the December of 2095, and he’d shut himself off from everyone, from Kagari and Shion and Sugo, who no doubt needed him for support. From that point forwards, he’d thrown himself into his schoolwork, and much later on in his career, so he could shove the guilt he felt over Risa and Shinya to one side, and eventually bury it.

At his suggestion, Risa’s eyes finally flicked to his, and he continued walking until just a short way from her. “So that made it easier to act.”

When she turned around to face him, there was a small smile on her face, muted somewhat, but it was there. “Yeah,” she agreed quietly, burying her mouth in her scarf so her words were muffled, but audible. “When I’m acting, I think that if I keep going for long enough, it’ll become real somewhere down the line.”

 _Akane_. Hadn’t she said something like that too? _“_ _Nope! I feel like if you say the words over and over, eventually it’ll be enough, and it’ll happen somewhere down the line.”_ Why did that conversation feel so long ago? In order to get what you want, you had to put up with something in turn, and then you made an effort, learned a skill, and found a way to inspire yourself. Was it like that for Tsunemori and Aoyanagi, too? Upon his silence, Risa turned away, as if ashamed. Right now, it was clear to Ginoza that she was enduring something, and enduring it incredibly well. As the opposite to him, she was pretending to be indifferent – from the cold, she blew on her hands as if to warm them slightly. She was acting as though she felt nothing, but a ten-year-old girl wasn’t that strong.

“Aoyanagi,” he spoke up finally. “Would you accept this?” He held out the somewhat clumsy invite he’d crafted last night and she accepted it. “I’m having a party, and I want you to come.”

“You’re inviting me?” she looked down. “Won’t there be a lot of people?”

“I don’t know yet,” Ginoza replied, “but I decided to give you the first invitation.” At that, her eyes widened and she seemed to straighten up a little out of surprise, before looking down again. “It’s on the 9th of December.”

“Huh?” she seemed stunned at the date; Ginoza wondered why.

“You will come, won’t you?”

At that, she clutched the invitation to her chest as if it was precious to her, and nodded once. “Yeah.” Then she stared pointedly at Ginoza’s hands. “Ginoza, aren’t your hands cold?”

Ginoza stared at them; they’d gone a little blue from the chilly weather. “Yeah,” he nodded, “They are, actually… I hadn’t really noticed.” He held his hands up, as if surrendering, “I think I left my gloves somewhere.” Risa’s hand touched his own, her fingers only marginally smaller than his were, and she studied them intently; not quite realising what was going on, Ginoza kept smiling firmly, until childish awkwardness and embarrassment reared its ugly head, and his face burned red.

_Hey, you’re twenty-eight, for the last time! Get a hold of yourself. What are you so embarrassed about?_

Still, his body seemed immobilised somehow, and he could barely twitch his fingers. He stayed like that until Risa spoke up. “Ginoza. That’s enough now.”

Awkwardly, he stuck one of his hands in the air and waved it, feeling incredibly stupid. “So, my hand’s a little bigger than yours, huh?”

“Are you an idiot?” she asked him flatly, turning away. “Still… it’s a little easier to talk to you nowadays, Ginoza.”

_That’s because I decided not to lie to you._

“That’s because I decided not to lie to you,” he said earnestly. _Crap. I just said that out loud._ Risa’s cheeks were the ones to burn aflame as she stared at the boy, who was awkwardly rubbing his nose, his eyes widened in shock. With a little huff, she spun around and began to run away, and Ginoza called out her name. “A-Aoyanagi! I’ll see you tomorrow!”

In her hand was the invitation still, clutched tightly there like she couldn’t bear to lose it.

 _…Weren’t her hands cold?_ _She didn’t have gloves, either_ , Ginoza noted.

Looking around, a chill went up his spine – the snow filled field illuminated by that solitary and old-fashioned streetlamp (it was knocked down and replaced with a newer, better – and it had to be said, uglier – model a few years after Shinya and Risa died, and since then, the park had never been the same) was the last place he’d ever seen Risa Aoyanagi alive seventeen years ago, and the thought made a shiver shoot up his spine. Her body was found after the snows melted in the spring; the icy coffin had preserved her body in almost perfect condition for almost three months, almost as though she was a plastic doll.

In his memory flashed the awful words he’d read in the book from the library covering the awful crime. **GIRL – ISOLATION – DISAPPEARANCE – ABDUCTED – DEAD.**

“I won’t let Aoyanagi be alone in this park,” he whispered fervently to himself. _If you say the words enough…_ “I… I’m going to change the future.”

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is for my lovely and dear friend Miss Lauren (lifeinredshades on tumblr) who inspired me with her awesome art! We're both big fans of both ERASED and Psycho-Pass, and I could never have done this without her help!


End file.
